


Magic in an Everyday Night

by babygotbackstrom



Category: Washington Capitals RPF
Genre: M/M, Stanley Cup Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygotbackstrom/pseuds/babygotbackstrom
Summary: (They’re told something about the Cup, in the locker room, he thinks, but he honestly can’t remember. It’s unfortunate the way that his eyes slide away from the face of the Keeper of the Cup, and how there always seems to be something more interesting than whatever the poor man is saying. Nicky wonders how he keeps his gloves so clean.)





	Magic in an Everyday Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dellessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Dellessa!   
> (Title from Sia.)

There’s a relief, when he lifts the Cup, that he won’t have to play angry anymore. He thinks his broken finger is in exquisite pain except, when he lifts the Cup, he can’t feel anything but weightless. 

It’s a magical moment, with Ovi’s hands gripping his hips as they shout in each other’s faces.

This is what it was all about. 

(They’re told something about the Cup, in the locker room, he thinks, but he honestly can’t remember. It’s unfortunate the way that his eyes slide away from the face of the Keeper of the Cup, and how there always seems to be something more interesting than whatever the poor man is saying. Nicky wonders how he keeps his gloves so clean.)

He doesn’t believe in fate. Not exactly. He does believe that some things are meant to be, and Alexander Ovechkin was always meant to be a champion. 

They look at each other often that night. Nicky isn’t sure that Ovi will ever let go of the Cup and Nicky isn’t sure he’ll ever let go of Ovi. 

(They don’t have a thing. They used to have a thing but it was messy, like the locker room in Vegas; messy and sticky and, as Ovi got sadder, and Nicky got angrier, it didn’t seem to work anymore.)

“We should get married,” says Ovi, one hand on the Cup (where else?). 

“Are you talking to the Cup or to me?” asks Nicky, because he’s always been good at deflecting Ovi’s shots (or just outright avoiding them).

“We’re in Las Vegas, baby!” 

Ovi is, already, very, very drunk.

“Ask me again when you’re sober,” Nicky thinks of saying. “Ask me again when we’re hungover and cranky, and I know you mean it.”

He’s saved from saying anything by Kuzy, who drags Ovi and the Cup up towards the DJ.

He’s saved from saying anything by hangovers, and fountains, and a parade, even though it feels like Ovi is touching him almost as much as he’s touching the Cup. 

There comes a time when they have to go their separate ways and the pain is good, this time. There’s no resentment; this season, they played hockey until there was no more hockey left to play. Nicky doesn’t have to pull on the blue and yellow of Tre Kronor so he can fool himself into fulfilment. He’s looking forward to going home.

“We’ll all be together again soon,” says Ovi, fiercely. He pats the Cup, which is going to be staying in the district for a few days. Carly’s going to be disgustingly patriotic with it and then it will follow Ovi across the ocean. 

It feels like Nicky’s barely back in Sweden when it happens. 

He falls asleep in his house by the sea, with the windows open and the curtains getting wet from the rain, and he sleeps more soundly than he ever has in his life. Until he wakes up, and his face is mashed against something hard, and there’s a smell of sweat and soap, and something tickles his nose. 

“Uh,” says a voice.

“What,” says Nicky, and he opens his eyes and shoots out of bed. It’s not his bed. He absolutely did not fall asleep in … “ _Ovi_.” 

“Backy, you never said you were coming,” says Ovi, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed.

“I’m not,” says Nicky. “I’m in Sweden.”

“No,” says Ovi. “This is Moscow.” He smiles brightly. “It’s my days with the Cup.” 

“I fell asleep in Sweden,” says Nicky, again. He looks down at himself, and his shorts and t-shirt. “How am I here?”

“Cup magic,” says Ovi. “Ouch!” He rubs his arm and glares at Nicky. “Why you pinch me, Backy, what the hell?”

“One of us is dreaming,” says Nicky, “And it isn’t me.” He sways closer to Ovi, nonetheless.

“Didn’t you listen to the Keeper?” asks Ovi. “You always know the play, Nicky. It’s not like you.”

“I … I tried,” says Nicky. “He said something about the Cup. It’s special or whatever.”

“Yes,” says Ovi. “It’s magic. No, don’t pinch me again!”

Nicky rubs his temples. “You’re telling me,” he starts. Ovi nods. “That the Cup is magic.” Ovi nods even more. “So, what, it brought me here?”

 

“Yes,” says Ovi, apparently satisfied that Nicky’s getting it.

“With only my pyjamas,” says Nicky. “And no passport or visa.” 

“You’re with me,” says Ovi, though he looks a little uncertain. Not even Alexander Ovechkin can circumvent Russian national security. 

“ _Why?_ ” asks Nicky. “And don’t dare say it’s because the Cup is magic.”

“You really didn’t listen, huh?” Ovi shakes his head. “You never wonder about the weird shit that happens to the Hawks or the Penguins? Or that stuff with Carter and Richie?”

Nicky glances to the side. “What now?”

“Zhenya has a _baby_ ,” says Ovi. 

“I mean, she’s got to be about two now,” says Nicky. “Is that still a baby?”

“Lars Nicklas Backstrom,” says Ovi. “ _Nicke._ ” He looks a little helpless. “You can’t figure it out? Why you’re here?” 

Nicky tugs at his collar. It’s hotter in Moscow, muggy like it’s going to rain, and he knows it’s noisy outside, with the World Cup and the regular traffic and the returning hero, sitting up in his bed, a little hunched in on himself. “You can’t figure it out, Nicke?” asks Ovi again. 

Nicky feels a little exasperated. He frowns a little. “If I’m not dreaming, and you’re not dreaming, and I’m really in Moscow…” He meets Ovi’s gaze. “It’s because I want to be here.”

 

“And …?”

“And because you want me to be here?” 

Ovi nods, almost frantic.

“You didn’t marry me in Vegas,” says Nicky, knowing he sounds accusing.

“Can’t marry you in Moscow,” says Ovi, looking a little regretful. 

“You can kiss me, though,” says Nicky. They’ve done that before, in Moscow, and a lot more. 

“Yes,” says Ovi. 

Nicky, finally, slides into the bed again and Ovi looks at him expectantly, and a bit slyly. Nicky kisses him, and if anything is going to wake him from this surreal dream, it will surely be this kiss. 

(No.

It’s a magical moment, with Ovi’s hands gripping his hips and Nicky can’t feel anything but weightless.)


End file.
